By Véronique Bouillier
Studying media Hinduism and the modern landscape of public representation of Hinduism, we are most often confronted with new religious movements and gurus who situate themselves outside the main traditional sectarian organisations. They propose usually an original combination of features borrowed from different backgrounds. As shown by most studies, their adepts come largely from the urban middle class (McKean, 1996; Warrier, 2003a) and are familiar with modern communication technologies. Their affirmative assertion of Hindu identity may lead to an ideological proximity with Hindutva (Copley, 2003; Zavos, 2000).
The case presented here is different. It concerns an old sampradaya, whose tradition may even go back to the 13th century and whose exclusively ascetic orientation appears very far from the lay middle-class clientele of modern guru organisations. However, as we shall see, even the most traditional or conservative sectarian groups may have to adapt to new situations. They do it in their own way and propose their own bricolage. They do adopt some of the distinctive aspects of modernist religious trends, such as more open access, an emphasis on universalistic spirituality and personal achievement, an involvement in social welfare, the use of new channels of communication, but they combine it with the original and specific teachings of their age-old tradition.
We may start with a quotation from the famous book by G. S. Ghurye, Indian Sadhus: ‘It is quite clear to us that the Nathapanthis have not shown the slightest appreciation of modern conditions, have not modified their way of living, much less have they taken up any educational and spiritualizing activity for their own order’ (1953: 158). A quick look on the website of the Amritnathashram (http://www.amritnathashram.org) can convince us that, on the contrary, some of them have taken a modernist turn even if this shift is quite recent.
The Nathpanthis, or Gorakhnathi Yogis, count among the oldest and most peculiar among the Shaiva sects. Descendents of the disappeared Kapalikas and Kalamukhas, they refer to Gorakhnath as their founder. Although we have no certainty about Gorakhnath’s real existence, he may have lived around the 12th century in North India (White, 1996: 85–100). His teaching, according to the treatises in Sanskrit he is credited with, proposes the practice of Hatha Yoga as a way to salvation. As a later development of the classical Patanjali’s Yoga, Hatha Yoga is based on tantrism, experimenting with divine union between Shiva and Shakti, or fusion in the absolute, with the body as a microcosm.
Tracing their origin back to Adinath or Shiva himself, the Nath Yogis have established genealogies back to Gorakhnath’s first disciples and see themselves as belonging to a common sampradaya they call Barahpanth (‘twelve branches’), the origin of which is difficult to date (Mallinson, 2007) but which certainly acquired importance during the medieval period. Known for the special superhuman powers their bodily practices were supposed to give, they were the favourites of kings and benefited from huge donations, mostly in North India and Nepal. Their influence is apparent, for example, in medieval epic literature, where many songs or poems narrate the adventures of yogis-kings, their amorous or warlike enterprises appearing as metaphor for the divine quest. Even Sufi epics like Heer Ranjha or Candayan testify to the importance and influence of their spiritual world view.
Like other Shaiva sampradayas, Nath Yogis combine itinerant and monastic patterns. Whilst they value an independent, roaming way of life, following North India pilgrimage routes, they also own monasteries where they gather on special occasions. The longevity of the sect, despite its loose structure and lack of rigid rules, is due to this monastic network and the periodic reactivation of common principles (Bouillier, 2008a, 2009). The specific monastic organisation of the Nath Yogis rests on a division into three different modes of association, whose combination guaranties permanency and flexibility. The first and most prestigious mode is that of the roaming or ramta ascetics who move in a corporate group under the leadership of special heads or mahants; called jamat, this group may be considered as an itinerant monastery,1 having its own rules and exercising authority on all the places owned by the Yogis. However, the mobility of the jamat rests on the existence of fixed places, the common monasteries owned by the sect as a whole. Called pancayati maths, assembly monasteries, this second mode provides places where the community of Yogis unites at specific moments, for festivals and for the election of various leaders or sectarian authorities. Generally of ancient foundation, having received land grants from various princely powers, these pancayati maths number nowadays no more than a dozen, but they can be considered as the guardian place of the Nath tradition, the fixed spot where the sect is taking root. Their functioning is quite peculiar to the Nath sect in the sense that the head, mahant or pir (as he is called in many cases) is elected by the assembly of the Yogis for a limited time; succession then does not depend on the death of a former mahant. The duration of headship and the time of the election varies with each monastery. The role of a mahant is open to all Yogis, and the mahant is sometimes considered as a kind of civil servant of the sect. Alongside these few common monasteries, the great majority of Nath institutions are the niji or personal maths, which constitute the third mode of association. They function in an autonomous way since the transmission of authority, the succession, is not dependent on the collective institutions of the sect. Generally founded by a charismatic figure, these niji maths are the property of a line of guru–shishya, the succession at the headship being done according to the relation between guru and disciple, and for life.
The niji maths face very different problems to the pancayati math. Each has to assert its legitimacy and secure its place inside the Nath sampradaya. It has also to ensure its duration. As says Dana Sawyer regarding the Dandi Dasnami Monasteries (1998: 159, 162): ‘They originate and develop around charismatic gurus. The guru is the pivot and foundation of the entire monastic structure, maths forming and dissolving as the gurus come and go. The effect of guruism is a very volatile, ephemeral and plastic monastic structure.’ To fight off this effect, the monastery and its head have to stabilise or consolidate their religious community. They have to translate the personal charisma of the founder into a stable institution, to transform charismatic authority into canonic law (Von Stietencron, 2001: 14–38).
In this process of stabilisation, patronage is very important. For a long time Nath Yogis were close to political powers, receiving land grants and donations from kings or local chieftains. In Rajputana, as in Nepal, legendary accounts as well as donation acts testify to this closeness and mutual support. Yogis offered their supernatural powers and their reputation as tantricists to the king, and the king reciprocated with wealth and privileges. But the political changes in the last two centuries have brought a change in the position of the Yogis. Royal patronage is no more and the Yogis’ influence has certainly decreased as a result. Many of their former temples or establishments in Rajasthan are now in ruins, and numerous ascetic Yogis settled as householders, acting sometimes as village exorcists.
The Nath sampradaya has, however, been able to react and maintain its tradition. A first step was the creation of an encompassing organisation called Akhil Bharatvarsiya Avadhut Bhes Barah Panth Yogi Mahasabha, or more simply Yogi Mahasabha. The intended purpose of this association, founded first in 1906 but reorganised in 1932, was to organise the whole of the Yogis under a single authority in order to reinforce its cohesion and assert a few guiding principles. The quest for patronage had to take new turns. In some cases, political parties are involved in the support of important monasteries; certainly all the main functions I attended at Nath monasteries included guests of honour who were political or administrative leaders of the town or district. The most active in this respect is Asthal Bohar monastery in Haryana where, for instance, a stone slab commemorates the inauguration of a new Ayurvedic college in the math compound by the famous Punjab Chief Minister, Pratap Singh Khairon. Some of the Yogis have themselves turned to politics, including well-known cases of Gorakhpur’s successive mahants and Members of Parliament. A prominent example is Mahant Adityanath, one of the youngest legislators to be elected to the Lok Sabha, at 26 in 1998, and head of the Hindu Yuva Vahini, an organisation whose politics are allied to Hindutva but with a following independent of the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP).2 But Gorakhpur mahants’ alignment with Hindu nationalism is not a general tendency. Involvement with politics is more eclectic, and official visitors, attending privately or for public events, come from all political backgrounds. Hindutva connections can even be resisted as when Avaidyanath, invited to a ritual celebration, was prevented from giving a communal speech in a place where Muslims were in force and social harmony prevalent.
In addition to political patronage, the Nath Yogis had to find financial support to replace princely patronage. Merchants and businessmen have taken the place of kings. This change in patronage has affected the niji maths in particular. These smaller institutions are naturally more vulnerable than the pancayati maths. They have to adapt to new demands and respond to the needs of new patrons. Their capacity to innovate gives the Nath sect the strength to continue, but changes necessarily introduced in religious practices, values, even ritual performances and calendars may have a cost. The age-old sampradaya is at risk of losing its identity in the competition with neo-gurus.
This Nath monastery (niji math) situated in the small town of Fatehpur in northern Rajasthan (Shekhavati province) offers a perfect example of the adaptation of the tradition to a new environment. The celebration there of the festival called Amrit Mahotsav on the occasion of the 150th birth anniversary of the founder was the spectacular occasion for a public representation of a sort of ‘neo-nathism’, encompassing divergent aspects of a global Hinduism.
The name ‘Amrit Ashram’ provides a clue as to this new orientation. Instead of the traditional math appellation, which I have translated loosely as monastery, the term ashram is used. Although this is an ancient designation for ascetic hermitage, it is now used in particular by new religious movements and new gurus and suggests the dominant presence of lay devotees. The ashram was founded in 1912 and takes its name from its founder, a charismatic and heterodox figure named Amritnath.
Amritnath, born in 1856 in a Jat family, was not a conventional or institutional guru. He lead an itinerant, solitary and ascetic life, roaming around mostly in Shekhavati, without much connection to the Nath sampradaya. By a paradox common to many ascetic independent figures, the more he appeared lonely and separated himself from society and ordinary social norms, the more he attracted disciples. His growing reputation attracted the most wealthy and powerful in the society of his time. The thakur (lord) of Sikar offered even villages as donation. Finally he accepted some land in northern Fatehpur and let his closest ascetic disciples build a small building, although he himself remained till death under a bare shelter with a thatched roof. When he died, there was the beginning of an institution, a small and fragile ashram grounded on Amritnath’s charisma and the devotion of his devotees. The problem for Amritnath’s disciples was to make this ashram last.
At the institutional level, the main problem at the death of a prestigious guru and founder is to ensure his succession. The core of this process is the building of the guru’s grave. That was the first act of Jyotinath, Amritnath’s successor. Amritnath’s memorial shrine, his samadhi, a real grave where he is effectively buried, is the heart, the centre of the Amritnath Ashram. Samadhi and gaddi, tomb and throne, are necessarily linked. Through his predecessor’s burial, the head-to-be gains public recognition. But also, through this act, there passes a certain community of substance: the successor mahant shares a subtle quality with his predecessor. The symbol of this identity is the gaddi (throne). The throne is the visible mark of permanency. In Fatehpur, an indication of this belief is that the name Srinathji is given to all the mahants. As a result, one never knows about whom a story is told; the mahants become one. When the succession has been assured, the personality of the head disappears behind his function.
From the initial hut, the ashram developed into a vast compound encompassing the four samadhis of the four successive mahants, a throne room for the present mahant, a reception hall, courtyards, kitchens and the many rooms required to accommodate a growing number of lay visitors. Building expansion reflects the growing influence of the ashram, and every mahant has been keen to add new wings or improvements to the main structure. This building activity is both financed by the lay donators and intended for their use.
The devotees of the Amritnath Ashram are since its foundation mainly Marwaris from the surrounding areas. Amritnath had strong links with the Shekhavati region and its inhabitants, and this has continued with his successors. The local merchant community has, however, since the 1920s, migrated all over India, settling in numbers in Calcutta (cf. Timberg, 1978: 56, 69) and also travelling abroad. For these migrants, the Fatehpur ashram represents a link with their place of origin. Usually, devotion to the ashram and its mahant is transmitted along family lines, inherited at the same time as the family property and sometimes transmitted through marriage. The ashram corresponds to what I call a ‘family Ashram’, a sort of ‘family house’ (Bouillier, 2008b). There, these many related families, which constitute a scattered diasporic community, locate their roots. Often their houses, the beautiful havelis of Shekhavati, are no more fit to live in, split between dozen of owners, decayed, without any modern amenities. Therefore, they stay in the ashram where they have their rooms, where they meet together, where they discuss private matters like business or marriages and of course where they get the advice and blessings of the mahant.
The attraction of the ashram rests on the personal relationship with the mahant, who is the guru of his lay disciples. He gives them a formula, a mantra they have to recite every day, which connects them mentally to him. They have also to promise to lead a virtuous life, but particularly appealing for modern householders are a few simple practices they can follow easily. The ashram teachings insist on cleanliness and frugality. Outside cleanliness is a sign of inside purity. And this purity comes with a pure diet: as says one of the ashram maxims, ‘cereals and fruits are the main diet; who eat meat will be destroyed’. Vegetarianism is accompanied by prohibition of cannabis, alcohol and tobacco. Such rules appear more in line with the brahmanical ethics of the merchant castes than with Nath Yogi traditions! Besides these dietary prescriptions, the ashram proposes a simple form of Yoga called here sahaj yoga, consisting in natural but controlled breathing. And all this behaviour is encompassed in what is qualified as seva (service). The use of this term beyond its original bhakti context characterises modern religiosity and is employed most often by modern devotees to describe their involvement with their guru (Warrier, 2003a; Beckerlegge, 2006). Among the Marwari devotees of Fatehpur, the seva, besides certain formal attitudes like serving food or sweeping the sanctuaries, resides basically in gift giving. From the cement used for new buildings to festival expenditure, the devotees give everything. The ashram has few proper resources and serves as a kind of redistribution centre for the extra wealth of the donators. As one of them told me: ‘We give for our own good. If we are too wealthy, we have a tendency to sin!’ Gift giving is also a common way to enhance social status.3 Generosity is publicly acknowledged and gets its reward, as we shall see, in a particular proximity with the mahant (cf. Warrier, 2003a: 274–76).
Another reward or transactional benefit the devotees hope to receive is the protection given by the mahant. Thanks to the reputation of the Nath Yogis in general—and of Amritnath’s line in particular—as wonder-workers, the devotees expect that the guru will help them and even do miracles for them. And they all have a story about some miraculous deed accomplished by one of the mahants for them or their family. Every event has a meaning. Chance is denied. Any happy event happens thanks to the guru, a misfortune is a warning. Even financial successes are credited to the mahant’s blessing, and very touching stories circulate about disciples saved from bankruptcy by an unexpected rise in market prices or on the Stock Exchange. To share the profit with the ashram is then normal behaviour.
The new patronage of this monastery has, however, led the Nath Yogis in a different religious direction. The wild, tantric, sometimes dark side of their practices and behaviour has been tamed. Devotionalism has supplanted tantrism. The niji maths have adapted to the surrounding bhakti atmosphere: instead of half-naked ascetics seated by their holy fire smoking ganja, we have well clad and dignified mahants seated on the throne, surrounded by well off lay disciples chanting hymns inspired by nirguni bhakti.
Compared to the general use of large-scale mass media by some new gurus and sects, the practices of the Amritnath Ashram are very much on a small scale. They have been shaped largely by the needs of the devotees’ network. At the same time, the knowledge these modern urban devotees have of new media may encourage their use in increasingly elaborate ways. On a day-to-day basis, both devotees and the guru at Amritnath make frequent use of the telephone. Morning and evening, for something like two hours, the guru sits in front of a kind of telephone switchboard and answers calls from various disciples all over India and even the US or England. The closest disciples call every day just for a short greeting: ‘Jay Shri Nath ji! How are you?’ They maintain, thus, a daily contact through what I call ‘a telephone darshan’. The link with the ashram is also maintained in some places where devotees are numerous—such as Delhi, Calcutta, Raniganj4 and Jaipur—through the establishment of small worship rooms and through listening to devotional tapes produced in the ashram. Devotional compositions are attributed to Amritnath and his disciples, or to the great poet-singers of the bhakti tradition (mostly here Kabir and Mirabai). These songs are also played on festival occasions in the ashram through huge loudspeakers.
The circulation of information about the ashram and its founder depends also on printed and visual media (see Plate 27.1). The first is a book written after Amritnath’s death by a lay follower, Durga Prasad Trivedi, which presents the main episodes of Amritnath’s life as well as his teaching on Yoga and good behaviour, and a selection of poems. The book is a constant inspiration for the ashram: the songs are reproduced separately, recorded on tapes. Hagiographical episodes from the book are represented through different media, especially paintings. Amrithnath’s life anecdotes are depicted on a series of 60 canvasses, which form a kind of hagiographic gallery in front of the main sanctuaries. And very recently, a huge showroom has been built inside the ashram, the walls covered with new paintings in the style of mythological comics, with English subtitles or commentaries. New episodes have been added, which incorporate the memory of devotees’ families. Ashram visitors are encouraged to visit the gallery, in order to marvel at the miracles performed by Amritnath and at the glory of the ashram.
The paintings are also central to the website recently published about the ashram (http://amritsangrah.com/amritnath.php). A first attempt at a website was made around 2000 by a visiting English Nath devotee. It has been recently enlarged and has now both Hindi and English versions. The website first situates the ashram in the tradition of the Nath sampradaya, then presents Amritnath’s heritage, reproducing the paintings describing his life. It also offers a summary of the main teachings about Yoga and natural diet as described in Trivedi’s book. And under the headline ‘disciple’ (with restricted access now), we find a fascinating presentation of the two books recently edited by the ashram which summarise testimonies of disciples regarding the greatness of the ashram’s gurus and the miracles they have witnessed. Both books and website give a vivid account of the ordinary life and beliefs of these middle-class urban devotees, whose names and intimate life details are openly given. The website also provides images and videos related to the main festive events occurring at the ashram, including the 2002 Amrit Mahotsav and its duplicate on a smaller scale in 2008. For this occasion, a video team came from Calcutta and undertook to film the whole event. They even had a cutting table and managed to do the editing on the spot. They were filming and photographing everywhere and when they complained that they could not shoot properly from outside the restricted sacred enclosure, they were even allowed inside without any other ritual preparation than a brahman disguise (a yellow dhoti and T-shirt similar the ones given to the officiating priests). Significantly, they focused more on the important patrons, who paid them, than on the ritual performances. On the last day of the Mahotsav, they displayed people’s photos for sale.5
As this last example demonstrates, modern technologies are deployed more to represent the tradition to devotees, and to enhance the status of the latter, rather than being used for outward representation or propaganda. Even the continuous playing of devotional songs on the sound system during the 2002 Mahotsav was interrupted to announce private phone calls for important devotees.6
The 2002 festival demonstrates the extent of the ashram’s willingness to adapt to the expectations of patrons. In the first instance, the mahant chose to have this birth anniversary festival on the date of Amritnath’s death (the full moon of the Asvin—September/October—month) rather than his birth. Apart from being the usual date of the yearly festival of the ashram (its utsav), this switch was effected as the actual date of Amritnath’s birth falls in the clear half of Cait (March/April), which was considered inconvenient for lay devotees both because of the heat and because many would be occupied with exams and tax declarations at this time of year. The festival extended over two weeks leading up to the full moon climax and attracted thousands of people. The overlapping of dozens of ritual and spectacular performances made a linear understanding quite difficult.7 Nevertheless, looking at the diversity of the references, we can see in this Mahotsav, as it was performed, a kind of summary of Hindu religiosity, where traditional forms and contemporary developments converged in a modern, hybrid religious totality.
Space was organised to welcome people and accommodate performances. First the ashram itself was enlarged. A new kitchen and dozens of rooms were added in order to house devotees and a new access route was opened to the samadhis in order to allow the crowd to make the pradaksina during early morning worship. Outside the ashram, the surrounding land was levelled to house a commercial fair, a camping site for the many ascetics who attended the last days of the festival, and the two big halls intended for the special Mahotsav performances. The mukhya pandal, the main pavilion, was devoted mostly to spectacular performances open to all visitors. The restricted access yajna shala, the sacrificial hall, was devoted to rituals. The spatial division between these two does not however mean that these two dimensions were exclusive of each other. Rituals were also inherently spectacular and regarded as such by the many devotees who circumambulated the consecrated space; and the performances given in the mukhya pandal were mostly in the form of ritual theatre, where the gods are ‘at play’ (Hawley, 1981; Sax, 1995), becoming incarnate in the actors.
The main ritual performed during the Mahotsav was an atirudra mahayajna, a huge solemn sacrifice dedicated to Rudra-Shiva, with the chanting of the Rudradhyaya.8 Claimed to be Vedic, it is now performed on a large scale in many religious centres advocating a revivalist Hinduism. As the date chosen for the Mahotsav corresponded also to the 10 days of Dasehra Durgapuja, Devi puja and the reading of the Durgasaptasati (the 700 verses in honour of the Devi, from the Markandeya Purana) preceded the atirudra. The yajna shala rituals were then said to be Vedic, but were also Shaiva through the centrality given to Shiva’s cult and Shakta in the diverse forms given to Durga’s cult.
The building of the yajna shala respected the rules established in the Kalpasutras,9 being a square open space, surrounded by a bamboo railing. Around and inside, an array of pillars supported a bamboo roof and divided the space according to the rituals injunctions, making visible the presence of the Gods (each pillar was dedicated to a god whose name, very didactically, was written on a small notice board). Eleven firepits were dug in the ritual enclosure. Their form and their place conformed to specific rules, which, even if they were said to be Vedic, were in fact expressed in the agamas (especially the Kamika Agama, the most commonly used). The symbolic interpretation of the forms of the firepits connected them with particular vows: for instance, the yonikunda in the south-east corner is linked to the desire of begetting sons, the triangle in the south-east to the destruction of enemies, the circle in the east to peace. Beside each firepit were two small altars, the vedis, on which were set the sacrificial ladles. These ladles and their names were in accordance with the indications of the Vedic texts. In the corners and along the eastern edge, eight bigger altars were dedicated to certain particular Gods, and in the north-east corner a main altar, later adorned with a complex mandala, was dedicated to Shiva. This mandala, on which 12 small crystal lingas were placed, was to become the centre of the main pujas in the following days.
Officiating priests at the Mahotsav were also articulated in Vedic terms: the brahman or expert, the udgatr or cantor, the hotr or narrator and the adhvaryu who makes the offerings and guides the yajamanas, each priest being helped by two assistants. Beside the priests, 96 other Brahmins seated in long rows in the yajna shala, continuously recited the Durgasaptasati then the Rudradhyaya over the first three days. An expert in tantric rites joined also for the special rites to the Devi.
However, if the ritualists bore traditional appellations, the sacrifiants or yajamanas were not exactly in conformity with Vedic norms. The head of the ashram, a celibate ascetic, acted as the main yajamana and even advised brahmans about the ritual procedures. This was surprising as the Vedic rules specify that the yajamana must be a married man acting with his spouse. The mahant shared his position with other devotees, and first with an old and rich couple settled in Raniganj that he wanted particularly to honour. As the puja went on, the mahant allowed more and more couples to enter the sacred enclosure and participate in the fire sacrifices. On the last day, I counted five couples surrounding each firepit. This shows clearly how all the ritual performance was oriented towards the needs and satisfaction of lay devotees.
I shall present now a brief summary of the different activities performed during the 15 days of the festival in the yajna shala.
During the first 10 days, Durga is worshipped. Every morning, after the first meal, brahmans started reciting the Durgasaptasati while the main yajamana couple made a pradaksina of the yajna shala with the adhvaryu, giving offerings to the deities present in the enclosure. The priests then made a special invocation to the Devi, sitting close to the altar dedicated to the Matrikas, where a small vessel (kalas or ghata) was installed for her to reside in. At the same time, in the nearby mukhya pandal, the tantric priest worshipped Devi, represented vividly by a huge papier mâché statue of Durga killing Mahisasura, made in the Bengali way by some Calcutta artisans. The crowd gathered here for the homage to the Devi, especially when the evening arati was performed, when everyone participated in rotating the flame in front of the statue and singing Om Jay Jagdis Hare, a refrain that we can hear now in all the temples of India.
After four days exclusively dedicated to the Devi, the rites to Shiva began. Brahmans drew the complicated Shiva mandala on the mulvedi, and then laid out the ritual items, in particular the three kalas supporting 12 small crystal lingas wrapped in white cloth. For 11 days, besides the Devi puja still performed, the mahant and the yajamana couple, guided by the adhvaryu, worshipped Shiva morning and evening.10 The ordinary worshippers on the external side of the railing participated by throwing flowers and cupping their hands on the holy flame carried to them by an attendant.
The eighth day, the fire ritual, the homa, began with the preliminaries or purvanga. The devotees who would be the yajamanas had to be consecrated: the men shaved, then purified, their naked body washed with water, sand, cow dung, turmeric and pancamrit. Husbands and wifes received a special benediction followed by a jalyatra, a ‘procession [carrying] water’. All couples circumambulated the sacred area, carrying a water jug. At a crossroads, an offering was placed on the ground by the mahant, in order to pacify and propitiate Bhairav and his possible malevolent attendants. Returning to the yajna sala, the procession members put their water jug on the Varuna altar.
The next day, everyone was expectant, waiting for the real start of the fire sacrifice: the churning out of fire. Two fire-producing wooden blocks (arani) were assembled, and each couple successively tried to revolve or ‘churn’ the drill with two ropes wound around the shaft of the drill, hoping to produce a spark. Nobody succeeded till the mahant, among a growing expectancy, took the initiative. A clamour welcomed the first spark and the tiny smoke which announced the fire kindling. Some dry straw was quickly set afire and carried to each of the firepits. All the following days, the sacrifying couples and the priest would stay seated around each fire, the priest pouring ghee on the fire and chanting Vedic verses. After each strophe, the yajamanas pour into the fire a handful of oblations (sesame and rice and barley seeds), with the ‘svaha’ exclamation (see Plate 27.2).
Everyday, the ashes mount grew until the last day, when the pits were almost filled in. This last day, the climax of the festival, is the sarad purnima, the day of Amritnath’s death, 151 years ago. The fire rituals end as they began, with a ‘water procession’, a jal yatra, but this time on a huge scale. The procession includes everyone from the ashram, even the defunct mahants, whose portraits were carried on elephant back, and covered the main part of the Fatehpur town. The mahant, gorgeously dressed, Maharaja style with brocade and turban, rode on a horseback, surrounded by two lines of ‘auspicious women’ carrying water kalas on their head (see Plate 27. 3). This display of prestige and power was received with warm welcome in the town, where people gathered to pay respect, to throw flowers or rice seeds, to give water. Fatehpur town has a sizeable Muslim population (30–40 per cent). The absence of any tension says a lot about the wide and general respect attached to the ashram and its head.
This atirudra mahayajna is an example of the recent tendency to revivify what is called ‘Vedic celebrations’, supposedly true to the Shrautasutra injunctions, whose performance is sometimes associated with Hindu nationalist tendencies. The performance of the ‘Vedic’ rites in the Amritnath Ashram also paradoxically implies that this Nath Yogi Ashram is a supporter of brahmanic orthodoxy. However, the many ritual innovations, as we have mentioned, make the celebration quite idiosyncratic.
Contrary to the situation in the yajna shala where only the ritual protagonists were involved and very few spectators present, the mukhya pandal was organised for welcoming a huge crowd. And as the days went on, more and more people were attracted to look at the different performances on stage and the giant fireworks display which concluded the last night’s festivities.
During the two weeks of the Mahotsav, the daily activities on the mukhya pandal started with the reading of the Shiva Purana. The reader was an ascetic from the Dadupanthi sect. After reading a few verses in Sanskrit, he explained their meaning in Hindi and listened to his assistant singing a hymn, accompanying himself on the harmonium. The attendance was relatively sparse for these early performances. The crowd started gathering for the theatre shows in the early afternoon, first mostly women and children from the surroundings. The ashram residents had their own delimited space in front of the stage and did not mix with the ordinary crowd. Two ritual plays were enacted by one of the best Brindavan theatre troupes. The afternoon was devoted to the raslila, the sung and danced representation of Krishna’s life episodes, and the evening to the ramlila, Rama’s life, adapted from Tulsidas’ Ramcaritmanas. The selection of the episodes represented was announced in advance on the programme, and some parts were most popular, like Sita’s svayamavara. Large video screens were put at the rear of the mukhya pandal to allow the standing crowd outside to see what is on stage. The atmosphere during the performance was devotional.11 This presence of the Gods was acknowledged by the mahant who, at the beginning and the end of the plays, bowed in front of the main actors impersonating Vishnu/Ram and Sita and, of course, by the devotees who queued up every evening to worship them.
The mukhya pandal also accommodated some other spectacles, more or less religious. There is the amritlila, a short interlude played every evening before the ramlila. Here the main devotees’ children enacted some striking episodes of Amritnath’s life and some miracles performed for their family’s benefit (see Plate 27. 4). The performance was well prepared, at the same time touching and didactic: Amritnath’s life story was reiterated, his memory publicly constructed.
One night, a small group of Rajasthani ascetics, known as the Jasnathis, were due to perform a kind of fire walking. Curiously, their venue attracted so many excited people that the police refused to insure public security. The monastery guests, especially the women, were confined to the ashram buildings. It is only on video screens that they were able to see a dozen men who dance trancelike on glowing embers or threw some firebrands to the watching crowd.
Another performance, this time purely profane, was made by a troupe of folklorist dancers. They danced the traditional Rajasthani style to the pleasure of the diasporic Marwari devotees who like this folkloric evocation of their local roots.
The ashram offered during the Mahotsav contrasting impressions: serious and exclusive Vedic rituals mixed with joyful entertainment. Adding to the impression of layered, multiple activities and religious modes, a sound system worked day and night. Every performer had a microphone, thus Vedic chanting competed with Shiva Purana reading or raslila songs. In the brief moments of interruption of this holy cacophony, devotional records were broadcast over loudspeakers.
Looking at this profusion and confusion of various celebrations, we have to remind ourselves that the Mahotsav was intended to celebrate the memory of an ascetic, of somebody who renounced the world, who diverted himself from ritual action in order to attend final liberation and that the place where this festival was held is a Nath Yogi monastery. Nevertheless, the raison d’être of the Mahotsav was never forgotten: Amritnath was present with a giant image overlooking the crowd and his grave was the object of continuous worship. Especially in the early morning and evening, the daily pujas were attended by a growing crowd of worshippers who circumambulated the tombs of the successive mahants, prostate in front of them and at the feet of the living mahant, before participating in the common singing of devotional hymns.
The last day, the climax of the festival, owed its importance to the presence of many ascetics belonging to different sects. They arrived in small groups during the two weeks of the Mahotsav till the fourteenth day, when the arrival of the itinerant Nath sadhus of the jamat attracted a lot of attention. The ambiguity of their position in the Mahotsav is a clear indicator of the ambivalence of the Fatehpur Ashram itself. The presence of the ascetics gave legitimacy to the festival: it gave public sanction to the inscription of Amritnath in an ascetic genealogy, and attested to the support, given by the Nath highest authorities, to the mahant and his ashram. Amritnath Ashram was publicly legitimised. However, the ascetics came late and did not show any interest in the many regular rituals and performances of the festival. A campsite was prepared for them outside the ashram. Apparently, they were not welcomed inside its precincts because of their habit of smoking ganja, of which the mahant highly disapproves. The lay devotees went sometimes to their campsite, looking at the ascetics with a mix of fear, curiosity and respect, but such contact was brief and sporadic.
The only public sanction of the ascetics’ presence was a great feast, served to them, for once, inside the ashram. Six hundred ascetics were seated in long rows in the courtyard and served by the devotees. They were quite impressive, sitting silently and waiting till everybody was served, before starting to eat (see Plate 27.5). The food was copious, generous in ghee and sugar. On such occasions, the reputation of an ashram and the generosity of its mahant and patrons are at stake. The ashram’s mahant later on distributed himself what is called bidai, parting gift, of money and cloth, which again enhanced his prestige.
As soon as the feast was over, the ascetics began to depart in small groups, heading to buses or walking. And the devotees did the same, but mostly by car. By the evening, the ashram has already returned to its ordinary state. The Mahotsav had been a complete success.
The Amrit Mahotsav demonstrated elements quite unusual in the Nath Yogi tradition: a ritual arrangement borrowed from Vedic and Agamic models, used for a cult to Durga, then to Shiva and culminating in a homa performed on 11 sacrificial firepits; plus a Puranic recitation, ritual theatre inspired by Vishnuite bhakti, a triumphal procession, fire-walking, thousands of devotees and visitors, a fair, 108 brahmans. A pious chaos, a profusion of ritual, devotional and festive activities, all of them performed in a place normally devoted to the veneration of sacred ascetics and to the personal quest for salvation.
The type of consumption of religious performances we see here in Fatehpur corresponds to the needs of different ‘customers’. Even if the ashram belongs to the Nath sect and gets its legitimacy from it, nevertheless its material prosperity, its power, come from its lay patrons, together rich and modern. They belong to the middle class, even if this categorisation is quite imprecise, and like the devotees described by Maya Warrier (2003b) in connection with the Amritanandamayi Mission, they could change from one guru to another, from one spiritual discipline to another, in order to find a way to personal accomplishment. But it seems that the Fatehpur devotees have found in the ashram a way to go back to their own familial and local roots and also a religious approach which suits their modernity in mixing simple spiritual techniques, trust in the guru and ideals of selfless service. Amrit Mahotsav presents them with the diversity of cultural forms offered by Hinduism, an ecumenical Hinduity, without any sectarian cleavage.
The two faces of the Amritnath Ashram, its strict adherence to Nath Yogi ancient and prestigious tradition and its resorting to modern consumerist attitudes, allow the devotees the privilege of not choosing between opposites. Maya Warrier writes:
What appears to attract these individuals [the devotees] to modern gurus like Sathya Sai Baba and Mata Amritanandamayi then is not the hope of securing anchorage in a religious community or regaining touch with ‘traditional’ modes of religious faith and practice, but quite the opposite. It is the choice, freedom, and flexibility these gurus allow their devotees in negotiating their faith in highly personalized and individual ways that make them appealing in the eye of their followers. (2003a: 262–63)
Amritnath Ashram, through performances like the Mahotsav, offers both possibilities combined: anchorage in tradition and freedom of individual spiritual strategy. But for the ashram, it is a difficult position to hold.
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1 I borrow this expression from Richard Burghart’s (1996) description of the Vishnuite Ramanandi ascetics. The threefold monastic pattern can be compared to the Ramanandi division into Naga,Tyagi and Rasik (Van der Veer, 1988).
2 For other examples, see: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/mahant-vs-yogi-stirs-up-gorakhpur-ls-battle/416828/0 (accessed 4 February 2012).
3 On the ambiguity of gift giving and the ideology of the ‘pure gift’, see J. Parry (1986) and (1989).
4 This is a coal mining area in Bihar, near the Bengal border, where the Fatehpur Ashram people seem to have settled in great numbers from 1920 onwards and where the ashram has opened a branch.
5 See Amritmahotsav photogallery at http://amritnathashram.org/english/photo_gallery.php?catid=97 (accessed 4 February 2012).
6 In 2002, the cellular phone network was not working well in Shekhawati. All the businessmen attending the festival had to rely upon the ashram’s old telephone. It is no more the case.
7 For a more detailed description of the festival, see Bouillier (2008a: 227–60).
8 See P. V. Kane (1930–62, Vol. 2: 813): ‘The eleven anuvakas [sections] of the Taittiriya Samhita IV.5 beginning with the words “namas-te Rudra manyava” are styled Rudradhyaya or simply Rudra’, or F. M. Smith (1987: 33).
9 As they are presented in the ritual manual used by the priests: published in Varanasi, the Yajna-mimamsa, written in 1999 by Pandit Sriveniramsarma Gauda, details the different kinds of sacrifices, gives the rules to be respected and the mantras to be enunciated, using Sanskrit texts of various origins.
10 For the morning puja, the mahant started with a series of oblations thrown in the direction of the mandala and directly on the crystal lingas. After the lingas abhishek with pancamrit, he proceeded to their reinstallation: the lingas are unwrapped from their wet cloth, washed, adorned, covered again with a new cloth and replaced on the mandala. The mahant worships again the altar, offering water, akhsata (rice seeds) and flowers, waves different oil lamps, and makes successive mudras. The yajamana couple prostrate themselves in front of the altar.
11 See among others J. S. Hawley (1981).